Colourblind
by LoulaBell-and-Sammy
Summary: Everybody sees the world in black and white and grey until they make physical contact with their soulmate. (mainly Alois/Claude. Modern AU. Before anyone gets started at us, there's only a 4 year age gap between them here oke)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 (March)**

"Alois?" The sound of his name laced with Hannah's voice snapped the boy to attention, his head turning toward the girl in the doorway in acknowledgement. She blew errant strands of lilac hair from her line of vision patiently, frowning when they fell back in her face. She rested against the doorframe that joined the hallway to the living area where the boy sat slouched on the couch, staring blankly with glazed eyes at the worksheets spread around him. He chewed the end of his pen as he brushed off the paper and stretched out his long legs, pulling up his socks absently. From the corner of one azure eye, he caught Hannah holding out the phone to him, the sad smile curving her full lips telling him who it was. Instinctively, the boy reached to fix his messy blond hair before he saw the look the girl gave him for doing so. "He can't see you through the phone, honey," she told him softly as she handed the phone over. Alois stuck his tongue out at her childishly as he put the phone to his ear, still sucking the end of the biro. Strolling to the couch where he'd been seconds before, he cleaned a space free of paper and fell back onto the cushions, curling up and cradling the device, happiness and mischief glowing visibly in his eyes.

The girl knew she should leave him to it, let him have a private conversation with the other boy over the phone without her interference, but she couldn't bring herself to turn away. Instead, she braided her hair absently, until the soft strands formed a long pleat that stretched the length of her back. From where she hovered at the edge of the room, she couldn't make out what Alois was saying – but that was not why she stayed. She observed the expressions that flitted across his angelic features with a sense of pride and fulfilment that overpowered the nagging doubt itching away under her skin. It was an itch she wouldn't scratch, for it would not be fair to the boy when she bled.

"You wanna get coffee?" The boy asked into the mouth of the phone, knowing the answer but revelling in the anticipation of it nevertheless. Caleb always wanted coffee. "Then…come back to mine after?" The last words were spoken a little louder so that Hannah could hear them. It was a question for both the boy on the other end of the line and the girl in the corner. After all, it was her house. Unsurprisingly, she nodded her consent and offered a smile.

Nestled amongst the cushions and graffiti covered homework assignments, he grinned back at her, and then upon hearing Caleb's response, winked lopsidedly. With that motion, his mouth curved one side for a second and his other eye was half-lidded. Of the many things he'd perfected, winking was not one of them. And she loved him all the more for it.

"Hannah!" Alois hung up the phone and dropped it in his lap, crossing his ankles over the top of the paper. "It's rude to stare!" She jumped, broken from her hazy black and white reverie and blinked at the boy. She took in all the shades of grey in his clothes, the near white of his irises, the dark storm-cloud grey of his socks and shorts. Averting her eyes at his request, she played with her fringe again, wondering about the colour of her hair. It was a lighter grey, streaked white in places, and matched the shade of her dress. Grey, black, white. It was a wider spectrum than it seemed. Alois cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes.

"I'm meeting Caleb for coffee, thanks for asking," he informed her proudly, "any chance we could have the place to ourselves for a while?" Despite the fact it appeared as a question, they both knew that she would give in without complaint or question. She toyed with the skirt of her dress and nodded at the carpet. It was black – nothing special, black as the winter nights when uninterrupted by the moon. Even she could see that.

"Of course," she straightened and glanced at the discarded school work, "but be careful, won't you?" She couldn't help but feel a parental edge of protectiveness over the boy. At six years her junior, he was like a younger brother to her, one who couldn't help but get himself into the worst and weirdest of situations. As if to emphasise this latter thought, the boy rolled his eyes and frowned, a pitiful expression that weighed Hannah down a little more every time she saw it.

"But careful is no fun!"He whined in complaint, tossing the phone carelessly to the coffee table and sneering when the black plastic casing of the back shattered and sprayed shards over the floor, depositing two batteries in the collision. The girl didn't have the heart to be angry, just knelt and began gathering the mess into a neat pile to bin later, collecting the two batteries separately and resting them in one drawer of the cabinet that leant against the wall nearest the door. The smooth wood of the piece was a dark mahogany, not that either of the two could appreciate the fact that it was anything but another in the countless shades of grey that decorated their worlds. When she'd cleared the room of broken pieces of phone casing and deposited the shards into the bin, she turned her attention once again to Alois. From the couch, he raised his light eyebrows inquisitively.

"You're fifteen," she reminded him with a soft sigh too small to reach him. "You're still not allowed too much fun." Upon hearing this, the boy scowled and threw a surprisingly well aimed ball of homework at her. She let it hit her squarely in the face and nodded just once. What she wanted to do was beg him to stay out of trouble and within reason, but knew that he'd already tuned out from their brief conversation, moving on to the more exciting activity of kicking paper.

She smiled a little at this, and the weight on her shoulders grew marginally lighter. Be what he may, the boy was precious to her. In his happiness, she found her own.

"Only eight more months," he sighed dramatically and swung his feet to the ground, "where are my boots, Hannah?" His staple outfit of mini shorts, thigh-high socks (if it was cold), a white shirt or top, would be nothing without his boots. Despite the fact that he wondered if he'd be able to live without them, he was constantly losing them, giving an unfortunate Hannah the task of finding them again. She left to recover his misplaces shoes, leaving him in the living-room with his thoughts for company.

He had told Caleb that he'd meet him at twenty to twelve, which gave him around three minutes to get from his apartment to Starbucks, a few streets away. And he had no shoes.

Standing in his socks, his eyes skirted the room for the jumper that he was adamantly sure he'd left on one of the two arm chairs. The first, a large overstuffed monstrosity that dwarfed him, sported only a tartan blanket thrown haphazardly over the back. He'd left it there since the last time Caleb was over and he was disinclined to move it now he'd be coming over again. It seemed like too much effort, which he hated making, and so he left it. The second chair by the window was empty save a throw cushion patterned with white floral and swirls that he liked because it smelled nice – like lavender and rain.

He had two minutes until he was supposed to meet the boy and no shoes or hoodie.

"Han…"

"I've got your hoodie too," she called, beating him to it as she appeared in the doorway holding both Alois' purple hoodie and boots. He shot her a grin in gratitude and flew over to her, snatching the items from her grip. Tying the bows on his boots and tugging on his hoodie, the boy adjusted his hair in the hallway mirror so that the blond, or light grey in his line of vision, strands fell expertly over his face. Appeased, he grabbed a wad of money and keys, both belonging to the lilac haired girl watching him leave with sad eyes.

The door closed loudly behind the boy, who left an emptiness in his wake. For a prolonged moment, Hannah only stared at the place where he'd stood a minute ago. With her colour deprived eyes, she swept her gaze over the apartment she'd come to call home. The front door, when opened, led into a short hallway ending in the living room, which sported two other doors on each side. The first on the left led into the kitchen, with white tile floors and spotless counters and a bin overflowing with take-out boxes. The next door down was for the first of the two bedrooms, belonging to Alois. As per everything he touched and everywhere he went, it was a complete mess. Clothes, school supplies still in their cellophane wrapping and scribbled, illegible notes, food wrappers littered the floor, bed and desk. The inhabitant of said room had a habit of living in chaos, which extended to the state he kept his room in. The mess he'd made of the living room was easily tidied, but the room was a two-day job. Opposite to Alois' room was Hannah's which, needless to say, was organised and neat, decorated in lighter shades similar to her hair and dress. The fourth room was a small bathroom, also meticulously clean courtesy of \Hannah, with a shower, bath and toilet. Their house didn't comprise of much but it was a roof over their heads and a place to call home.

And that was more than Alois had before.

She curled her toes into the soft carpet under her feet, the sensation reminding her of the beach and the sun-warmed grains of sand sinking under her bare feet. A tiny sigh rushed past her lips to infect the air, a sad longing seeping through her tan skin. She hadn't been to the beach, seen the sea, smelt the salt in the air for too long. Her mind cast her back to carefree childhood memories of family day-trips to the seaside, where her parents would tip-toe with her into the caress of the sea, her mother shrieking when the icy chill lapped at her ankles. Hannah felt her eyes flutter shut briefly, the warm skin of the palm of her hand tingle with the vivid recollection of her father's hand in hers. How they'd sit on the sands at the end of the day, when the sand had been robbed of warmth and the ocean had darkened into an angry beast, and watch the sun's slow descent below the horizon. Her parents had commented on how beautiful the colours were: reds, pinks, oranges, yellows. She saw a thousand shades and variations of grey and felt the sharp sting of jealousy shoot through her small body. That's when her mother would pull her close and promise her daughter that one day, she'd find love and watch the sunset with new eyes.

Fifteen years on and, at twenty one, the sun was still a bright ball of white in a grey sky. She hadn't gone back to that beach since her parents died and she knew she wouldn't until she had somebody to watch in colour beside her. In the mean time, waiting wasn't the boring tale she'd thought it would be. Alois had a habit of taking a normal, boring life and plunging it into madness. But Hannah wasn't quite sure what she'd do without his madness,

He was his own brand of chaos and she loved him for it, even if he didn't appreciate it.

The girl set to the task of clearing the sheets of paper dominating the couch and stacking them in neat piles on the cabinet to the side. She noticed, with a smile, that as answers to his algebra questions, Alois had written either curses of 'why does it matter?' and 'when am I ever going to use this?' and her personal favourite 'x is not a number go back to school.' She knew, in the end, that she'd give him the answers.

When the couch was clear, she glanced down at her wrist to her mother's silver watch. Barely ten lonely minutes had passed since the boy had left, though she guessed that he hadn't even met Caleb yet. Alois Trancy ran for nobody, especially when he ran the risk of messing up his hair. The thought brought her mind back to the issue of Alois' boyfriend. By her count, the two had been dating for a little over a month and Alois was infatuated. Every day, without fail, he either spoke to or met up with the other boy and spent the entire time they weren't together complaining.

Smitten as he was, Hannah guessed that he hadn't given much thought to the role of the universe, in its ultimate wisdom, played with who each person would spend the rest of their life with. On the contrary, every time Caleb's name was mentioned, which was minutely in their house, it was all she could think about. She's watch the two together with a vain hope that the reaction was just late, delayed somehow.

They held hands in black and white. They hugged in black and white. They kissed in black and white. Colour hadn't given them a second glance. And because of this, every time she saw the boy, she ached.

On paper, Caleb and Alois were the perfect couple, if slightly unconventional. Both were loud and talkative, unafraid to share their opinions, however inane, with the world. They shared the same obscure interests, like an obsession with cats and sugar. They were handsome, so side-by-side they looked as though they'd stepped out of a movie set. But they lived in monochrome.

With Caleb, Alois would never know what colour his own eyes were. With Caleb, Alois would never know purple from green or red. With Caleb, Alois was dulled. And, in Hannah's eyes, he deserved so much more. And, yet, she refused to tell him this because, despite the fact that they weren't made to be, the grin on Alois' face was contagious. Ultimately, she wanted him to be happy. More than that, she wanted him to be loved and to love back unconditionally.

If she could sell her soul to fulfil this, she wouldn't have hesitated. But it wasn't her choice, and she couldn't control it. Nevertheless, until Alois lived within the full spectrum of colour, she would not even begin to search for her own.

Alois pulled his hoodie closer to him, trying futilely to hide from the bitter wind that dared mess with his hair and clothes. The freezing temperature gave him gooseflesh and rosy cheeks and nose, which the boy was less than pleased with. Because of this, he walked with a scowl painted on his face and an angry ice in his eyes, his head down as he glared at the pavement. On a Saturday afternoon, the streets were swarmed with angry business men and bubbling tourist talking nonsense about the royal family. The latter group didn't seem at all bothered by the cold, which only soured his mood more. Only the promise of coffee and cuddling with Caleb to warm up kept him from turning tail and darting back to the warmth of the apartment.

Above, the sky bore thick clouds that loomed over the crowd in a dangerous dark grey. It promised rain in downpours to ruin everyone's plans and a bite to the air to make drawing breath sting your lungs. Alois did not like it one bit. Quickening his pace, he ploughed headfirst into a dense crowd full of people pushing and pulling in different directions. The boy jabbed his elbows into people's ribs, and yelled insults at them to try and secure a passage to no avail. His shouts weren't even heard over the roar of thunder as the sky opened and released waterfalls of rain over their heads.

He really wished he'd brought an umbrella.

His skin felt coated in ice, his hair plastered to his forehead in rats-tails dripping cold rivulets of water down his face. His clothes were soaked through almost instantly, the heels on his boots the only thing keeping his toes from freezing off. Teeth chattering, he surged forward, fuming in annoyance and desperate to get inside. He jostled with the crow, finally negotiating his way around a particularly tall man in front of him with glares exchanged. As he sloshed through a collection of puddles pooling in dents in the concrete, he was boxed in on every side by people like him in need of warmth.

So when somebody brushed by him, arm touching his briefly, he thought nothing of it, until he stumbled and nearly fell face first into a puddle.

Colour. Assaulting him from every angle, an assortment of bright shades unlike anything he could have imagined. It was as though somebody had peeled back the murky film from his sight to reveal the world how everybody else saw it. He finally found that the sky was not blue, just its usual grey, that his hair was the same colour as that girl's jacket – a bright blond that looked a buttery yellow. He glanced down at what he wore and only grinned until his face felt numb, though that could have just been the cold. Green – so that was what it looked like. Purple. Red. Yellow. Blue.

By the time the paralysing shock wore off and the cold jerked him back to himself, his wild eyes caught only a glimpse of the man who'd given him sight. He looked older than himself, tall with messy dark hair which was wet from the continual downpour, and eyes the colour of treacle rimmed by black glasses. For a brief moment, their eyes locked over the crowd and time stilled until Alois could swear the whole damn world could hear his heartbeat. And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd that was still pulling Alois in the other direction. Screw colour, he wanted the boy back. Truly annoyed, Alois swore violently at the ground, then at a poor unsuspecting woman who wore orange with pink. He may be new to the whole colour business, but even he could tell that it didn't work.

"Well," he muttered under ragged breath, still seething, "at least he was hot."

* * *

><p><strong>Author note (kind of. Actually it's the upload-person note? Considering I'm only here to upload stuff for author friend because she lives a very sad, internet-deprived life 3 )**

**Anyway...author-friend is glad this has favourites/follows/reviews already and I'm going to upload the second chapter! Please review though and say what you think of it, I think she'd appreciate that (so would I because it takes so long to sort this stuff out and put it on here, also I came up with some of the storyline. Not that it matters considering she's the one who has actually been writing it out...on paper...with a pen and everything. Then typing it all up. Wow.)**

**But yeah, second chapter is coming up ~3**

**~Loulabell**


	2. Chapter 2

Claude Faustus' rain soaked hair blocked slivers of his new vision and he brushed it away impatiently. The rain still fell mercilessly, pelting against him and causing rivulets of water to run down his skin. The suit he wore provided little protection from the elements, his shirt soaked almost instantly, clinging to him like a young child. He pinched a corner of the sodden shirt between his thumb and forefinger and peeled it from the skin of his stomach. The world in colour was a mere change which he took aside no more than a minute to marvel over. It annoyed him to no end that now he'd have to spend time learning each colour and painting his apartment in the ones he liked. He'd been fine with monochrome, the world in shades of black and white was easy to understand, simple, effective. Colour, like emotion, complicated things.

Since his initial shock of being momentarily stunned, the crowds around him had thinned as everybody made for shelter from the relentless rain. He searched briefly through rain-specked glasses for the boy he'd brushed shoulders with. The boy meant to be his 'soul-mate'.

He'd looked, from the initial glimpse Claude had caught of him. Around sixteen, wide eyed in shock with a confused-puppy expression worn like a mask over handsome features, His blond hair, which Claude now registered as something other than 'light-grey', was plastered to his forehead, covering one blue eye. Despite the fact that he chose to wear very short shorts and thigh-high socks, which Claude couldn't help but think was just down right stupid, he came off as a cute doe-eyed creature caught in headlights. For the second their eyes had met, the older had felt an odd intrigue tug at him. He had a weakness for pretty things.

Not that any of it mattered, as Claude had a life of his own that didn't need any more complicating. He'd never see the boy again and, honestly, he was fine with that fact. He ran a hand down his forehead, rubbing his temples in an attempt to calm the brewing headache. The bright colour that attacked him every time he opened his eyes was giving him a migraine, and the cold rain wasn't helping.

"Damn that kid," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. In his nineteen years, he'd never once believed that somewhere out there, he had a soul-mate who, upon touching, would draw back the veil and open his mind to colour.

He hadn't, still didn't, particularly want a soul-mate and the stupid colours were just getting in the way. He glanced at his watch, the glass screen obscured with fat raindrops. He wiped it on his jacked impatiently and shielded it from the rain, squinting to read the numbers.

"Shit." Claude sighed heavily, letting a one-syllable laugh escape his lips void of humour. He was late, which was far from a regular occurrence for him and not one that he appreciated. To add to his problems, the migraine was chomping down on his sanity greedily and his sodden suit would take hours to dry. And working didn't scream appeal at him in that particular moment.

He could afford to miss a day.

Fishing his phone from his pocket, he dialed the restaurant's number and gave an excuse as to why he wasn't turning up for work. His reasoning was far from the truth, which was that he'd just found, and then lost, 'the one' and all the colours were making him ill. He needed coffee, he needed a tutor and he needed them fast. But first things first, he needed not to catch hypothermia.

Squinting through the curtains of rain, he retreated back to the safety of his flat. Only when his front door had closed behind him did he let himself relax. His heavy sigh coated the air around him with the chill of his breathe and the onslaught of colour in his apartment forced him to squeeze his light brown eyes shut. Sparks of blue and pinks had imprinted themselves onto the black of his eyelids but they were bearable.

When he felt like he could open his eyes again without lashing out, he made for the shower and turned the water on as hot as it could go. Peeling his drenched clothes off his kin was like ripping off a band-aid, annoying and painful. The heat of the water bore pin pricks of pain into his frozen skin, warming him up so fast his nerves burned. The pain didn't bother him in the slightest, his only concern being that he needed to feel his feet again. After around ten minutes of forcing warmth back into his body, he dried and dressed in a plain black t-shirt and blue denim jeans. Not being able to name the colour frustrated him to no end and he glared at himself in the misted bathroom mirror.

His eyes, he noted, were an odd colour like that of the light wood of his cabinets. He thanked whoever was in charge that his hair was plain black – unchanged.

With his dripping wet clothes in the washing machine and the kettle on for as many mugs of black coffee he could consume without causing serious damage, he braced himself and picked up the phone. Unquestionably, he'd have to get somebody to help him get to grips with colour. Trouble was, he didn't like very many people and far from relished the idea of asking anybody for help. He briefly considered calling his parents before drawing the conclusion that they lived over two hours away and help wouldn't exactly be speedy and the fact that he simple couldn't bring himself to tell them. He didn't have very many options, and was growing more irritable by the second.

Which was how he ended up calling Sebastian Michaelis.

Sebastian was the closest thing to a friend Claude could think of and even then he considered him more of an acquaintance. He despaired at stooping to the level of relying on him to teach him how to get to grips with such a childish concept. And yet, there was nothing else to do and short of asking random people on the street if they could see in colour, Sebastian was his only viable option.

He was around Claude's age, at eighteen, and had found his world being thrown into colour the year before. He was still at school, which amused Claude to no end, but planned to leave after the important exams. Odd as it was, Sebastian had met his soul-mate in school – the maths corridor to be exact. This also provided endless hours of humour for the older, much to Sebastian's annoyance.

The boy he'd managed to end up with was four years younger, at fourteen, and, in Claude's opinion, an unappreciative child. Ciel was around half Sebastian's height, which royally irritated Ciel whenever Claude pointed it out, and was forever chastising Sebastian for showing any sign of affection. He never smiled and, because of an accident he refused to talk about, wore a black eye patch over one blue eye. Claude had met him a grand total of three times and they had exchanged maybe two words, one of which being 'hello'. Sebastian, on the contrary, was quick and snarky, forever cracking jokes at the expense of others.

Claude didn't particularly like either of them.

Sebastian answered the phone with a sharp tone, which differed from his usual sarcastic edge. He didn't sound at all pleased to hear from Claude, which was unsurprising. Claude wasn't the easiest person to like. Despite this, Sebastian grudgingly agreed to come over and go through the colours with Claude, though constantly made sarcastic comments about the misfortune of Claude's so-called-soul-mate. Claude didn't bother to explain the whole fiasco in which he didn't know so much as the blond boy's name. He barely knew what he looked like.

While he waited for the others to show up, he poured himself a cup of strong black coffee and sat at the kitchen counter clutching the mug and staring into the dark drink. He was very tempted to spike it with something strong to help ease the stress pushing down on his head and shoulders. Then again, he supposed, it's only make matters worse.

Instead, he took a couple Paracetamol for the headache that felt as though his skull was caving in, and sighed inwardly. He wasn't the most agreeable person on a good day and the past few hours since he'd woken had proved insufferable. First, with the arguments with Alyth and then running into and losing his soul-mate and turning to Sebastian Michaelis for help.

Much more, and he worried for his health.

Ten minutes and three cups of coffee passed before four hard knocks sounded throughout the flat, starting Claude back to his senses. Dragging himself from his seat, he unlatched the door and swung it open to face the two boys standing on the other side. Ciel's one visible eye was trained on the floor and the flat press of his mouth told Claude that he'd really rather be anywhere else. Sebastian's red eyes were trained on Claude, who glared back and crossed his arms. Both were wearing fairly neutral colours, which he appreciated. He was contemplating whether to let the youngest in when Ciel checked his phone and glanced up at Sebastian.

"I'm going," he announced, sounding as bored as he looked, casting Claude a disgusted grimace, "good luck with…that." Sebastian grinned down at the boy as he turned to leave. Just as he'd begun walking away, Sebastian called after him.

"Ciel?" The boy turned in answer, and Sebastian used the opportunity to steal a kiss, which he agreed to for a few seconds before shoving Sebastian away, eye darkening and blush rising up his neck and blooming on his cheeks.

"You prick," he swore at him and left without another glance back. Claude grinned visibly while Sebastian just looked overly pleased with himself.

They stood in silence for another moment and Claude studied the red of his eyes. It was odd, the colour and, although he was hardly experienced in such things, he knew that the colour didn't belong. He squinted through his glasses, slightly confused. Sebastian raised a dark eyebrow impatiently.

"Well? Can I come in?"

Claude was very tempted to deny this request and shut the door in his face and figure everything out for himself. Recognising that doing so would be a low point for even him, he opened the door wider and gestured for the man to enter, stepping aside to make room. Sebastian stepped aside and scanned the apartment as the door fell closed behind him, smirking a little at the utter cleanliness of Claude's house. There was nothing out of place, not a cup or a jacket or a pencil. The only sound came from the low rumbling hum of the washing machine in the kitchen, which they entered.

Sebastian sat at the dining table while Claude made himself yet another cup of coffee. Neither spoke, Sebastian scoping out the situation and Claude fixated on his need for caffeine. When the silence was finally broken, it was the former who spoke.

"Y'know, this coffee addiction of yours is unhealthy," he pointed out, a lopsided smirk returning to his face, "maybe I should sign you into rehab." This comment earned only a glare from Claude as he sat across from him and sipped his coffee. The temptation to throw it at him was overwhelming. Resisting it by sheer force of will, he sighed pointedly and leant back in his chair.

"I have every mind to kick you out of my house," he said truthfully, "but, much as I regret it, I am in need of your help." Sebastian raised his brow and inclined his head.

"And how may I be of assistance?" He asked mockingly, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. Claude grimaced, hiding it with another drink of coffee. Reluctantly, he answered.

"Teach me how to put up with colour," he said simply, meeting Sebastian's eyes, "and tell me what's wrong with your eyes. Are they supposed to be like that?" He didn't bother dulling the edge to his voice, his disgust showing through in his words. The man's eyes were not the colour they should be, and he wanted to know why. Evidently, this amused Sebastian.

"They're red," he told him, and Claude made a mental note of the colour and name, "They're contacts. The only colours that eyes should be naturally are blue, brown, hazel or green. Naturally, mine are brown. Yours are…" he paused and studied Claude's eyes so intently it unnerved him, "very light brown. Unusual." Claude rolled his 'unusual' eyes in annoyance and blew out a long breath.

"Blue, hazel, green?" He shook his head and glared at his mug as though it were a cure for his frustration. "What the hell are they?"

Sebastian grinned a little and stood, glancing around and crossing his arms over his chest. He was taller than Claude but his presence not nearly as commanding, which suited him just fine.

"Such impatience…" Sebastian tutted, considering the room around him, "I pity whoever got stuck with you."Claude agreed with that, his respect for Sebastian growing ever so slightly. He was now level with snails in Claude's eyes. "Speaking of…" he trailed off and picked up a pair of scissors with coloured handles, "who is it?"

Without waiting for an answer, he left the kitchen and returned moments later with a cushion from the couch. He set both items down in front of Claude, awaiting an answer. The man just shook his head and stared down into the empty mug, contemplating filling it again.

"Well?" Sebastian asked again, throwing a cup down with the other items. "You're not getting off with not telling me, you know."

"I don't know," Claude admitted angrily, glaring at the assortment of stuff Sebastian had placed in front of him. Sebastian sat back down and held up the scissors in a way that made Claude uneasy.

"You must know," he insisted, "this is green, like grass." Claude banked that in his memory as Sebastian set the scissors down and picked up the throw pillow. "And this is blue, like…the sky anywhere other than the UK."

Claude nodded, creating a folder in his head to store the colour in. Giving each a name gave him back some semblance of control, which made them much easier to deal with.

"I don't know," Claude repeated when Sebastian prodded for more information.

"Do you at least know what they look like? Because I'm assuming it's not Alyth," Sebastian raised a brow, a sly grin slipping into place as he finished up with his lesson, mind returning to Claude's soul mate. If it was in fact Alyth, the man's so-called girlfriend, he had a feeling that there'd be tears. Claude, however, looked less than amused by the very mention of her name, never mind the suggestion he belonged with her.

"Of course it's not her," Claude spat, scowling and sitting a little taller in his chair, "I brushed past him, that's all, earlier today. He looks a little over your brat's age."

"My 'brat' is not yours to insult and you're lucky he even acknowledged your pathetic existence," Sebastian stood up for the boy, wishing he were with Ciel rather than Claude. If he insulted his soul mate again, he may well use the scissors for more than just a lesson aid.

"He doesn't acknowledge me," Claude countered, glad for the fact, "for which I am eternally grateful."

"It'd be wise for you not to insult him," Sebastian said, his smile at odds with the menacing tone the words took on, "and you're not getting off that easy. Tell me more, maybe Ciel knows him." The odds of that were so painfully small that Claude didn't even consider the possibility. Still, he decided to humour the man and talk of the boy on the street.

"He had bright blue eyes and…" Claude searched for the right word, testing his recent knowledge, "yellow hair. And… an interesting choice of clothing."

"Clothes hardly matter when they're on the floor," Sebastian joked, only laughing when Claude kicked him hard under the table, "blond haired blue eyed boy. You're nothing if not predictable, my dear friend."

The look in Claude's eyes drew increasingly dangerous, and Sebastian was saved by the bell. Or, rather, his ringtone. Sebastian pulled his phone from his pocket and took a quick glance at the screen, then immediately picked it up.

"Ciel, where are you? Okay, I'm leaving now." True to his word, before he'd even hung up, he was out of his seat and by the front door. He was halfway down the hallway, Claude's front door open in his wake, when he turned back to yell, "one good thing about not knowing him – you can keep enjoying your life with the company of spiders and that bitch!"

He said it in a cheery tone, which only provoked Claude to give him the finger and slam the door shut to the sound of Sebastian's laughter. Spiders, Claude thought to himself as he cleared the table and returned each thing to its rightful place, he was happy with. Alyth, on the other hand, not so much. She'd been fun at first, a pastime for a bored university student, before she'd developed feelings and wanted something serious. Along with a multitude of other things, that was why Claude had been avoiding her persistent calls and looks in passing.

"Being bi," Claude complained to himself, the only person who'd listen, "is just a word for having to deal with both girl's and guy's issues."

And, right on cue, she called.


	3. Chapter 3

**Uploader note, lmao **

**yea okay I was going to post this chapter sooner, but I forgot sort of and now author-friend is making me do it because she's here right now. She says hi btw. Also we're making character profile thingies, in case you care, idk. **

**But yeah author-friend is gonna make a note-thingy probably because she hasn't really introduced herself and I feel like you guys and I are kind of familiar with each other already, basically best friends now ;) ily, bye, enjoy this chapter!**

**~Loulabell**

Caleb was sitting in a small booth, a mug of coffee clutched between his cold hands, the dark skin of his knuckles turning white as he waited for the boy to turn up. He'd come to accept the fact that Alois' clock ran ten minutes behind everyone else's and expected him to be fashionably late. Running a hand through his close cut hair, he glanced around the small franchise. People milled around the tables and congregated in a long line before the counter, a gaggle of voices rising to a crescendo and rain soaked skin and hair and clothes in a million colours he could not see. Squinting, he analysed the shades of grey and everything in between.

He hated the fact that the world chose who they belonged with, designated each and every person a perfect partner that they might never even meet. What he felt for Alois, something he was sure was named love, was strong enough to make him smile uncontrollably and talk to him everyday, strong enough that when they weren't together, there was a hollowed out space inside of his chest in the shape of the heart he'd claimed.

And yet, it wasn't enough.

He shook that thought from his mind and contented himself with taking a gulp of his coffee, adding another sachet of sugar when he decided the drink wasn't sweet enough. The miniature couch he reclined on sent an ache up his spine, which he successfully ignored, distracting himself by staring at the door until the boy walked in.

Dressed in wet shorts, boots and hoodie, with his hair sticking to his skin, he still managed to look like a model. Caleb took s moment to study his stance, the un-amused expression on his face, the slouch of his shoulders before Alois found him and made his way over. On long legs, he reached the other boy fast and fell onto the sofa next to him, fitting himself into Caleb's outstretched arms effortlessly. He leaned a little closer and kissed him softly on the cheek, grinning as he did in welcome. Caleb, in turn, pulled him closer, not minding in the slightest that he was soaking wet. Disgruntled as he was, he couldn't help but find it endearing. Alois reached for the hot chocolate Caleb had bought him and inhaled the scent deeply, tucking his feet up beside him on the couch. The people around them didn't spare them half a glance, and that suited the boys just fine.

"Sorry I'm late," Alois apologised, though his tone was insincere, and he put his mug back on the table to rest his head on Caleb's shoulder, stealing his body heat.

"You'd better be," the other boy replied jokingly, kissing the top of Alois' blond head, the strands of his damp hair tickling his nose. Alois giggle and looked up at him through his lashes, clumped from the down pour.

"I'll make it up to you," he promised, his grin conveying more than just happiness. Sitting there with Caleb, he saw his boyfriend in a whole new light, and he couldn't help but be captivated. His skin was the rich colour of the chocolate he drank, and Alois was very tempted to kiss him again to see if he tasted sweet. His irises were, though deep brown, flecked with gold that caught the light and played with the mischief in his eyes. The clothes he wore, a dark blue tee-shirt the colour Alois imagines the sea might be at night and black jeans that the boy could now see were faded in places, looked different through his new eyes. He was beautiful, and Alois liked having pretty things all to himself.

"You're staring at me," Caleb pointed out, meeting Alois' scrutinising eyes with his own curious ones. Alois' smile all but disappeared and a rare sincerity coloured his face. The boy shifted so his lips grazed the shell of his ear when he chose to reply and one hand played with his hair.

"That's because you're beautiful," he whispered, deadly serious, staying pressed close for a beat longer than it took for him to speak. Caleb grinned and wound an arm around Alois' waist, tilting his heat to the side in a way the blond found adorable.

"You must be freezing in those clothes," he mused, feigning innocence despite the sly smile on his face that Alois returned gladly as he finished his drink and nodded in agreement.

"I was hoping you could help me with that, my dear," he said, taking Caleb's hand and standing up, sliding out of the booth with an enviable grace. Caleb followed suit, lacing their fingers and holding the door open for him, bowing when Alois nodded his thanks.

The rain refused to give in but they strolled at a contented pace through the blankets of water that wrapped around them and held them closer together. Their footsteps fell in time, hitting the pavement and kicking up splashes from puddles in a unison that amused Alois to no end. When they rounded a street corner, the blond took Caleb aside and kissed him against the wall, laughing as the rain assaulted them, their skin damp and sweet from the weather. Much to Alois' disappointment, Caleb pulled away before the kiss could intensify and wrapped Alois in his embrace. Content with this, he rested his head in the place where Caleb's shoulder met his neck, the spot designed for him. He fit in place with Caleb and beneath his pearly skin, Alois could feel his own pulse thrum like the beat of a hummingbird's wings close to the surface.

"Can you hear it?" He whispered breathlessly into Caleb's top, shivering in the rain despite the fact that he was far from cold. Caleb furrowed his brow and pulled back ever so slightly to squint at the boy. Alois smiled softly, his lips forming the words so quietly even he wasn't sure he'd said it aloud./ "My heartbeat." Caleb grinned at this and kissed Alois once more, a brush of his lips that lasted a fleeting second.

"Let's get out of the rain," he suggested, the dark skin of his exposed arms glistening with fat droplets of water. Alois returned the smile and tightened his hold on Caleb's hand, determined not to let go. He didn't see why he couldn't have the best of everything – able to see in colour and stay with the boy he wanted to be with. As far as he was concerned, the universe could take its wisdom and sh-

"Hannah's out," Alois informed the boy, darting for the door to the building and dragging him along behind. Pushing against the glass door impatiently, he let out a small sigh of relief at the sudden warmth the walls provided. He glared jokingly at the stairwell before making for the elevator, Caleb now with an almost protective arm around his waist.

"Alois, you're going to break the damn thing," he complained at the blond pounded on the elevator button insistently with his fist. He missed, distracted by his boyfriend's words and threw his fist into the wall. Pain shot through his knuckles and on impulse he let out a loud stream of curses that dyed the air with anger. Caleb suppressed his laughter, if only because he knew he'd end up becoming a punching bag next if he found amusement in the situation.

"I think I broke myself," Alois whimpered, bottom lip trembling as tears shone in his eyes.

While the button and the boy were a little worse for wear, the wall seemed perfectly unharmed, which didn't seem fair to either boy. Caleb pulled Alois to him and let him burrow his head into his chest. Carefully, he took Alois' 'broken' hand in his own and inspected it slowly. The blond sniffled but didn't raise his head until the other kissed each finger and then the centre of his palm for good luck. Only then did Alois meet Caleb's eyes.

"It's fine now," Alois declared in a regal voice and Caleb scoffed.

"You're such a child," he rolled his dark eyes as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. He made sure to take care of anything button related while Alois was distracted staring at himself in the mirrored walls. His thin arms were crossed over his chest and eyebrows furrowed so his eyes looked small.

"I look like such a fucking mess," he complained, blowing a drying strand of hair out of his face in an annoyed fashion. The other just shook his head and went to stand beside him in the mirror, meeting his eyes in the reflection.

"No, you don't," he said truthfully, "but we can look like a mess together, if you insist upon insulting yourself."

Alois still scowled, but to a lesser extent and finally turned away from the mirror to fumble in his pocket for his, or rather Hannah's, keys. The silver doors slid open behind them and Alois unlocked the door after three attempts due to the fact that his fingers were numb.

Inside, he threw the keys onto the table and made immediately for his bedroom to change. Catching the hoodie that was thrown at him, Caleb walked to the living room and tugged on the jumper, dialling up the heating on the radiator. He was as much at Alois' as he was at his own house and Hannah never seemed to mind.

When Alois reappeared, he shot Caleb a glance and grin. Confused but pleased nonetheless, he let Alois drag him to a chair and bury them both under a huge blanket. He curled up beside him, warming up quickly, and turned the television onto a film which he chose at random by hitting all the buttons until something played.

"That colour suits you," he said almost sleepily, the words slipping out before he analysed the severity of them. He felt Caleb stiffen beneath him as he pushed Alois away to look him in the eye, his own filled with confusion and betrayal. The blond flinched visibly, reaching for Caleb's hand as he yanked it out of reach.

Silence hung heavy between them, the weight of unspoken words making the air a little harder to breathe in. Alois scanned Caleb's features critically, his heart jolting to a halt in hic hest like a car performing an emergency stop. What he found there was an utter lack of anger, as he'd expected, but only hurt, which transformed his face into something Alois didn't recognise.

"How long?"

"What?" Alois forced the tremble from his voice, nothing registering in his mind.

"How long have you been able to see colour?"

"Oh," the boy paused and looked down, "not long. Just before I met you for coffee."

"When were you planning on telling me you'd found your soul mate?" His voice was uncharacteristically harsh, edged with hurt that stung like salt on a wound. Alois paused, biting his lip nervously.

"Never?" He knew it was the wrong answer, but couldn't help it when it slid off his tongue and landed awkwardly between them. Caleb let out a harsh on syllable laugh in disbelief and pushed himself to his feet.

"Never," he repeated, shaking his head, "you were just going to lie to me? Tell me that I was still the one? Clearly, I'm not." He meant to sound angry, but only managed defeated. Alois cringed inwardly, looking up at him from where he sat with sad eyes.

"Don't…"

"Don't what?" Caleb interrupted, "don't say that? It's the truth. I'm not the one for you, Alois. You know that. You found him already and not in me. I just – I need some time."

He turned on his heel and started for the front door to leave, his limbs suddenly made of lead and hard to move. He knew that this was bound to happen at some point, and yet it still came as a blow sure to send him off his feet. He swallowed the lump in his throat and unlatched the door, throwing Alois' borrowed hoodie on the floor, when the boy called his name out, voice cracking halfway through.

"Caleb, wait."

"What?" He looked back over his shoulder, one hand resting on the doorknob, his stomach lurching at the thought of leaving.

"Don't leave me," the boy requested helplessly, blue eyes wide in something resembling fear.

And, God, Caleb wanted to honour this wish and stay, forget the whole ordeal. But he couldn't. So instead, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway outside.

"Too late." And he was gone.

For a long while, the boy who was left only stared at the empty air where his boyfriend, or rather ex-boyfriend, had been minutes ago. He did not move from that seat, did not think, blink, barely drew breath. When oxygen did enter and escape his lungs, it hurt, burned like fire and ice and fire and ice and fire –

And then there was anger, pure undiluted rage that boiled beneath layers of skin, fizzed inside his brain, jittered in his heart until he threatened to burst. He could not have a mother and father, a brother, a home for his own, a boyfriend who loved him despite the inconveniences. He could not be happy without circumstance breaking him down and spitting in his face. He was sick of taking the blows of a drunken man's fist, or the pounding of parting words. He was tired of putting up with the world, never achieving love. He wasn't sure who his heart beat for but, yes, it still plodded on, never tiring of its cage of bone and body of blood.

But the boy had tired of his cage of circumstance and ire, of indecision and messes that took more than just a mop to clean up.

Alois held his hands in front of his face and peeled his eyes open. Five long fingers, delicate bones encased in smooth, creamy skin traced with the shallow lines marking them as his own. Creases of the fleshy part of his palm fading to almost translucent skin where he could map his veins with a finger until he found his heart. And, if he held his right hand in the right light, the shine of a long scar just off centre of his palm, the mark of a memory he wished he could swallow with vodka. Instead, he settled for water and a steely look at the door.

Those hands that he'd studied like he'd never seen them before fell by his side as he straightened his back. Those hands that longed to be held curled around the smooth plastic exterior of the phone in his pocket. Those hands that told a story refused to shake as they keyed in the number integrated in his mind.

The answer came halfway through the second ring, a voice he was embarrassingly glad to hear. It felt as though he had lived more than his fair share of lifetimes between the moment he'd heard it last and the present that he had a hard time accepting. Too much had happened in too little a span of time, and he marvelled at the fact that he was still alive, with the luck he was having.

"Hello?"

"Hannah," Alois sniffled, wiping a stray tear with the back of his hand, the name coming out gummy and strained. He didn't remember starting to cry, which worried him more than a little. With a needy tone of voice that, at any other moment in time, would make him cringe and sneer, he said, "come home." He bit his tongue before the last dribble of words leaked out and completely destroyed any smidgen of self respect he had left. Through it all, he refused to say the words 'I need you'.

"I'm already on my way," the girl answered from the other end of the line, concern eminent in her melodic voice, "what happened? Why are you crying? Are you hurt?"

With the assurance that she'd be with him soon, the boy shook his head and hung up, hiccupping sadly. If there'd been anybody with him, he'd have clung to them for comfort, but on his own he had to make do with pulling his knees to his frail body and wrapping his arms around his legs. In the back of his mind, he had the inane thought that the kitchen floor was not the most comfortable place to feel sorry for himself, and once it had registered, he evicted the thought completely.

"This is what madness feels like," he told himself in a small voice, feeling suddenly tiny and insignificant. The feeling was all too familiar and he squashed it as best he could, suffocating it but sure it would revive its filthy self later and rear its ugly head.

He would not be insignificant – he was Alois Trancy for God's sake – and he'd make damn sure everybody knew it.

Just as soon as he got off the floor.

**actual author note, no joke, 100% real author as in the person who wrote this thingy**

**hi**

**~Sammy**

**(she's a person of many words ~Loulabell)**


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as Hannah caught a glimpse of the name flashing on screen of her mobile, she searched fervently for a taxi. Hailing the car, she allowed herself a second to prepare for whatever Alois had to say. Much as she loved the boy, he never called her to give good new and there was a small part of her dreading picking up the phone just in case he was as furious as he had been last time he called. She killed that tine part of herself instantly, guilt overruling her system and driving her to answer the phone just as the taxi pulled up beside her.

A mere beat after she'd said a soft 'hello' into the receiver, she felt her heart plummet into her stomach, jostling her lungs as it went. A knot formed in her veins, disrupting her blood which had frozen any way. Sorrow was evident even in his breath and across the line connecting the two, she could hear the thick pull of air into his lungs through a sob he near chocked on, in his sniffling and shaking of his chest that she felt as though she could see. Crying, for Alois, was far from a common occurrence – he favoured anger or a need for vengeance over all else – and the fact that he was crying then chilled the girl to the bone.

"Oi, lady!" The cab driver yelled from the driver's seat to where she sat hunched in the back, phone cupped to her ear. His voice, unnecessarily harsh and rough like sandpaper, grating on her frayed nerves.

Her blue eyes turned icy and she glared at him in the rear-view mirror, shaking her head to signal that it was in his best interest to keep his mouth shut. Then she waited patiently, her heart breaking for the boy with every beat. Then, finally:

"Hannah," a pause in which more crying and sniffling ensued, "come home."

At this, she froze, her lips parted as if to speak, the foot she'd been tapping against the cab's floor paused in mid air. The air itself seemed to still around her for a second which felt like an hour during which she pondered the many ways to kill the person who had hurt Alois. The boy was hers and she didn't take kindly to her things being damaged by the clumsy hands of insignificants.

When she supplied an answer, she merely told him she was on her way and meant to stop there. However, her voice had a mind of its own and her instinct compelled her to ask questions, stupid questions that she knew she would not get an answer to through the phone. Much to her suspicions, the boy hung up without another word, leaving her with a dial tone and a rude taxi driver.

The man turned and raised a thick eyebrow at her. He was a large man, with eyes dark as mud and greying hair in his beard. His clothes, she noted seemed a size too small and strained across his bulk. She wondered absently how he fit into the car everyday and, with that much muscle, how he ended up driving cars for a living. Normally, she would've been compelled to ask the latter question and make conversation with a man who was just doing his job. But worry had over run her system and left no room for tolerance.

She rattled off her address and told the man that he'd better get there quickly. That threat felt vaguely empty considering the sheer size of the man, but at that moment, she felt like she could take on a tiger and win if it meant she'd get to Alois faster. The brat that he was, he'd admitted, more or less, to needing her and she'd be damned if she was going to let him down. Hannah rummaged in her purse for cash and handed it to the driver over his shoulder as she pulled up outside her apartment block, the side door open before the car had even come to a halt.

Inside, the elevator wouldn't come fast enough but stairs were always her downfall. However impatiently, she waited, noting that the 'up' button which normally flashed orange didn't light up. When the doors finally opened, she hit the number of her floor hard, so the wall shook in surprise. She prayed that nobody else called the elevator and she wouldn't have to stop. She didn't know why, nor did she particularly care, but getting to Alois was more important than breathing.

The metal cage deposited her on the appropriate floor, its doors shuddering shut behind the girl. A lilac strand of hair escaped her pleat and tickled her nose, falling right back into place when she brushed it away. It annoyed her more than it should have.

She knew the door would be open. Kicking it closed after her entrance, she skirted the hall and ducked into the kitchen, dropping her bag on the floor. Alois, no longer crying, sat leant against a cupboard, legs straightened in front of him and arms, on which the skin stood up in goose-bumps, hanging limply by his side. He blinked a few times and turned reddened eyes on Hannah. The girl slid to the floor beside him, her dress enveloping her legs in soft fabric. Alois reached out absently and brushed her skirt. The air was heavy and clung to the stench of sadness, tasting thick on her tongue.

"He left, Hannah," Alois whispered in disbelief, "why did he leave?" He turned on her then, pale cheeks coloured crudely with red like a child had got over excited with their crayons. His paper skin seemed almost translucent in comparison. The boy grabbed her arm a little too tightly, wild in his sorrow. "Why does everybody leave?"

"I won't leave," Hannah promised softly, wincing a little as his nails dented the dark skin on the underside of her forearm. But she didn't move away. Alois either didn't hear her, or didn't care.

"I loved him and he walked out and it's not fair," he told her, anger taking over from his grief.

She couldn't help but be relieved. An angry Alois, she recognised.

"He acted like it was my fault and got all touchy because I didn't tell him but I didn't think it mattered! Why does it matter and why isn't he here and why the fuck do I deserve to be alone? Answer me, Hannah!"

He released her arm to drag his fingers through already tousled hair. The girl didn't have an answer for him, instead, pulling him close as he beat pathetic fists drained of strength against her legs.

"The world is a bitch," she said truthfully, "it thinks it knows best."

"It doesn't it doesn't it doesn't!" he cried, arms aching from hitting her as he fell into her hold. He absorbed her body warmth gratefully.

"I know, and if I could take your pain away I would," her voice was tiny, just barely loud enough to be heard, "but I'm afraid I can't. But I will try to help, if you tell me what happened?"

He curled up as though trying to fold himself in half and leant against her soft body for support. She was pretty, he noticed, a realisation he should've made earlier. In the dim light of the kitchen, he marvelled at her contrasting features with a horrible curiosity. Her eyes, a colour he could not name but were blue, were dark and deep and full of concern. They were at odds with her skin, a smooth colour like the cappuccinos Caleb had been fond of. Errant tufts of her hair had worked their way free and he now saw that whoever she'd had dye her hair that light purple had good taste.

"You suit the colour of your hair," he told her boldly, a rare compliment that lit up her face. She smiled gently, knowing what his words meant.

The pieces began falling into place. She shifted into a more comfortable position and sighed almost unnoticeably. Then, in a voice that Alois had grown to associate with home, she asked him something.

And there, on a cold kitchen floor, he told her everything.

**Author note again but this time she's actually going to say stuff**

**Okay, my last note was kinda shitty so you guys can have a real one this time. I guess that I should acknowledge the fact that I put this on the internet. What do I say? Thanks, I guess, for reading it and commenting and whatever it is you do with your time. I waste mine writing this shit and you waste your time reading it so I guess we have a mutual understanding. **

**Basically, this fic is gonna get really sad and stupid and emotional and all that touchy feely stuff real people like to do. So, yeah. Enjoy, I guess.**

**Byeeeeee**

**~ Sammy x**

**Uploader Note! Because I'm totally important and you guys obviously love me!**

**You finally met author friend! I'm so happy. Is this what it feels like when you have friends but then you introduce them to your other friends which is cool because you have so many friends?  
>We're friends though, right? I hope you remember our plans to meet up tomorrow at 4, we're gonna have so much fun, with our special bonding. We're like...soulmates, but in a totally platonic way. Kinda like in Homestuck.<strong>

**Anyway, you get 2 chapters in one day because I felt like being nice in return for being woken up in the middle of the night after my phone alerted me that people had favourited this. You guys read fanfiction at the craziest of times. Or you live in a place with a totally different timezone..**

**But yeah, ily bye ~Loulabell**

**(comment and tell me all the things I'm doing wrong. Seriously. Please. This needs to get better, jfc. Also, read Homestuck. That is all. Peace out ~ Sammy)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Uploader note: Did you guys have a good Christmas? I feel like it's been a while since we talked which is sad because we really do have a connection. I think this could go somewhere.**

**Anyway, let's start off this year with this update that you have obviously been waiting ages for (sorry)**

**~Loulabell3**

Claude glared daggers at the cell phone vibrating in his hand with an incoming call as if it would make the name on screen disappear. And, soon enough, it did, ringing out and being replaced with a 'missed call' that he now recognised was red. Since Sebastian had left, he'd forced himself to stop drinking coffee and had moved onto something with a little more substance.

The hours had passed in the blink of a weary eye and he had been dodging Alyth's calls for what felt like forever. He both admired her persistence and wondered how thick she had to be not to get the message that, frankly, she was the last person he wanted to deal with. He took a sip of wine, the burnt sugar taste of it coating his tongue and catching the back of his throat. He wasn't sure why he bothered with the wine – he never drank enough to feel its effects, and he certainly didn't drink it for its healing properties. The headache he'd developed shortly after bumping into the boy had decided it'd be fun to drill a hole in the side of his skull. He couldn't say he agreed. He glowered down at the blood red liquid in his glass and shook his head at the silence of the apartment. He usually welcomed silence, fond of the reprieve it gave him from senseless human chatter, but then again, usually he liked the company of his own thoughts.

Tonight though, they were too obnoxious, to suffocating. It was slowly destroying him that he'd come to a problem he couldn't just take in his stride. He'd mastered colours, yes, but something had shifted inside him, deep down, in a cage of bone and blood and muscle. And as much as he didn't want to acknowledge it, it wasn't going away. He had a horrible suspicion that his days of 'just fooling around' and being a normal, stupid college student were far behind him. Which meant Alyth had to be a part of his past, too.

To escape the whirlpool of thoughts that was his mind, he left his unfinished glass at the kitchen table and adjusted his glasses on the way to the living room, switching on the small TV as he passed it to sit on the couch. He sat perched on the edge, remote in hand as he flicked through the channels. Bored amber eyes flitted, half-lidded, over the screen, which showed only news reports sure to make him even more depressed or things he didn't want to acknowledge existed. Deciding that watching television was a waste of anybody's time, he switched it back off and resigned himself once again to silence.

For about five seconds.

He promptly threw his damned phone across the room. If the girl didn't stop calling, texting and just generally bugging him, he thought he'd go homicidal. Eventually, he realised, he'd have to acknowledge her, but he hoped to postpone that for as long as he could.

Outside, the sun was setting, sending hues of orange and pink between the gaps in his blinds to leak across his carpet in near fluorescent strips. He blinked a few times, watching as the colours on the floor danced behind his eyes, before standing up and drawing back the blinds completely. There, he allowed himself to marvel as the sky unravelled itself before him. Colours Sebastian hadn't told him existed washed over him, bathing him in their dying warmth.

And, with its last breath, the sun fell in front of him.

For a moment after it ended, the man stood in a slack jawed awe – as state he could never remember being in. It was something caught in between shock and wonder. He pulled himself together quickly, closing the blinds again against the onslaught of darkness. With this came a wave of fatigue that engulfed him, driving him to his bed.

He fell asleep to the sound of his own disbelief.

He woke early enough to have a few hours between him and work, but not early enough to catch the sunrise. When he first opened his eyes, he stilled instantly, the sight of his bedroom in colour giving him a shock that rendered his body immobile. Orange walls clashed with purple picture frames, and the towels and blankets folded and yet to be put away were a cringe worthy array of every colour he seemed to hate. Grimacing, he thanked himself for at least having plain black and white sheets and duvet.

Despite this, he very clearly needed to redecorate. He sighed to himself, which did nothing to improve his mood. Changing out of the loose fitting trousers he slept in and into the suit he was required to wear to work, perfectly pressed and conforming to his body as though it were made for him. He remembered, much to his disgust, the way the boy's gaze had run him over in the street and wondered absently how he must have looked, probably with an angry look on his face and soaked to the skin. Promptly, he realised that he didn't care and shook his head to clear the last delusions of sleep as he made his way to the kitchen.

He postponed the inevitable moment of retrieving his phone by pouring himself a bowl of cereal and making strong coffee as slowly as he could manage, taking the cup and food with him to the table and staring at the contents listlessly in silence. He ate, despite the fact he was far from hungry, and as he did so, he convinced himself that if he ignored the issue of so-called-soul-mates, it would go away. He'd be glad never to see the boy again, not to mention Alyth. The company of himself was all he needed – was all he could bare for more than a few days.

When he could no longer postpone the matter of his phone, he put the dishes in the dishwasher and made for the bathroom. The cereal had tasted like cardboard, the coffee of worn leather, and his stomach churned. The mint flavour of toothpaste did nothing to help, only making each breath cold with the menthol. He spat blood into the pristine porcelain sink before he realised he'd been standing there for over five minutes. Washing the stale taste of old pennies from his tongue, he caught himself in the mirror above the sink. His own eyes stared back at him, looking sunken in his skull, his skin pale and taut, his mouth a pressed line of frustration. He had never been a particularly patient man, and the past few days had begun to take their toll. Shrugging it off and taking it in his stride, he turned his back to the glass and closed the door on the pale blue tile louder than necessary.

The phone in his hand was held at arms length between thumb and forefinger like a dirty rag. A look of horror and dread was printed on his face, though it suited him more than a smile. He turned the device on warily, scowling when, almost immediately, it began to ring. He scrutinised the caller ID and, determining that it was not in fact Alyth, he answered.

"Hello?" His tone reflected how he felt and he didn't bother to mask it.

"Morning princess," Sebastian laughed and Claude rolled his eyes. Maybe answering had been a mistake.

As per usual, the man could hear Ciel, Sebastian's soul mate, complaining in the background, though he couldn't quite make out what the boy, who at fourteen Claude still considered a child, was saying. Something about cake. Sebastian muttered something back, which was also lost to Claude.

"I presume there's a reason you're calling me?" He cut to the chase, already bored.

"Yes," Sebastian took his time answering, "on Ciel's behalf." Claude was glad of this. Talking to that kid would have pushed him over the edge.

"Go on."

"Well," he chuckled, relishing the information, "y'know your soul mate, blond hair, wears too-short shorts? Ciel knows him," before Claude could so much as draw breath to respond, he continued, "well…knows _of _ him."

"And?" Claude was growing impatient, the sound of the other's voice growing monotonous.

"He says 'good luck'." Sebastian laughed a little cruelly and Claude let the dial tone say 'goodbye' for him as he hung up without another word.

Shaking his head, he blew out a short, exasperated breath between clenched teeth. He glared at the time. Considering the fact that he still had a full hour before he had to leave and the restaurant was just around the corner, he had plenty of time to make another call and argue a different point. That didn't mean he wanted to, however.

As he scrolled as slowly as possible through his list of contacts, he noticed the seven missed calls from the girl. He squinted at the screen, adjusting his glasses to make sure he was seeing things right. But it wasn't his sight that was the problem – it was her inability to take a hint. Scowling, his bad mood getting worse with every minute, he thumbed the button to call Alyth back. Before he could so much as reconsider she answered, and he could hear her smile through the phone. This only irritated him more.

"Darling, I knew you'd call me back!" The elation in her voice was irrational, as though she'd won the lottery. Much as she annoyed him, Claude dreaded bursting her beautiful, naïve bubble.

"Alyth," he replied tersely, unsure of how to continue. After a moment's pause which consisted of her waiting diligently and him pacing back and forth, he found the words he needed. "There's something you should know." He cringed at his own words, wondering why he couldn't just be brutally honest. If Sebastian or Ciel could see how flustered he was, they'd laugh themselves stupid.

"Ooh, do continue," the girl insisted.

"I think…ugh…" _oh dear God, _he thought, _this is beyond embarrassing._ "I don't think we should see each other any more."

"Well, we could just turn the lights off," she joked nervously.

"You know what I mean," he took a deep breath, "it's over."

The words hung limp, a sad excuse that Claude was ashamed of. He grimaced at the floor and listened to her silence. He could hear her chewing her nails and sniffing, as though there were tears. But she couldn't be crying, he assured himself. This mess was just going downhill and he was doing nothing to try and stop it. In fact, he couldn't take his foot off the accelerator.

"What?" She finally asked, her voice thick with disappointment. "But you're supposed to love me! You hate me, don't you? I can't believe this, I can't believe I loved you." _Did you, really?_ Claude refrained from asking this aloud, terrified of the response he'd get. "And you threw it back in my face, you prick!"

He wasn't about to argue with the last statement. Instead, he stayed deathly silent, drawing breath as quietly as he could. The girl wasn't the nicest at the best of times, and he's just prodded the beast. Albeit with a stick. He was too much of a coward to get any closer.

And now he'd have to deal with the repercussions.

"Want one?" Will offered Claude the pack of cigarettes as they stood against the wall around the back of the high-end restaurant where they both worked. Claude shot a disdainful glance at the 'cancer-sticks' before shaking his head. He kicked absently at an empty can beside his foot, rolling it until it hid behind a bin bag, contents spilling over the ground. The stench of garbage permeated the air and he scrunched up his nose, trying not to breathe it in.

"Those things have rat poison in them," he warned, eyes fixed on a small spider spinning an elaborate web beside him.

"Good thing I'm not a rat then," Will shot back, lighting a cigarette and shoving the box back in the pocket of his suit trousers. The other man sneered and chose to focus on the spider instead. Her legs entwined with the floss of her web, a deliberate dance which Claude couldn't turn away from. Humans, with all their destructive, jealous tendencies, could not destroy such a simple beauty. He was glad for this, for that spider provided much needed distraction from any thoughts his mind had to offer.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," he retorted, pushing himself off the wall, arms crossed neatly over his chest, sour taste of second hand smoke staining his tongue.

He turned to his colleague, who took a long pull on the cigarette and straightened in response. The cold hand of early spring had flushed his cheeks pink, turned both their breaths to ghosts that mingled with the smoke in the air of midday. Claude barely felt the cold, which wasn't unusual, or if he did, he didn't notice. His mind was elsewhere.

"Break's almost up," he informed Will, "and now you'll stink of smoke." The other man, completely unfazed by Claude's words, stubbed out his cigarette against the wall and let it fall to the ground. Then, he followed Claude back into the warmth of the kitchen.

The hour left of Claude's shift passed too fast for his liking, the customers and food orders passing in a multi-coloured blur before his eyes. A headache settled itself behind his eyes and he found himself dragging through an easy day. Despite the odd glances Will shot his way occasionally, Claude suspected he'd managed to pull off the 'normal' act. In truth, not that he'd let anybody see, his bones felt as heavy as gold bars buried beneath a sheet of metal skin, his actions and responses robotic, nothing more than muscle memory. He greeted customers, said 'please' and 'thank you', struggled through conversations with Will feeling as though he was a child taking his first steps. And all the while, a dread of what was to come nestled on his shoulders, overbearing and moody.

He signed out, waved a half-hearted goodbye at the other waiters and waitresses he could actually stand, and left. The rush of cold air was a welcomed shock forcing him back to reality, giving him no choice but top pull himself together. He shook himself off and adjusted the direction he was walking. He glanced at the watch branding his left wrist. He'd be early, but he figured it was better than enduring the lecture he'd undoubtedly receive if he was late.

The pavement beneath his feet stayed true to its word and deposited him before the café come bookshop the girl insisted they meet at. The streets were relatively quiet, the city air surprisingly clean, the smell of vanilla and coffee beans leaking out the sliver between the door and the ground, and he debated waiting outside.

But the promise of coffee was just too tempting.

A small bell above the door signalled his entrance, but the few customers occupying their respective tables didn't bother to look up. He surveyed the scene. At least five people sat at different tables, hunched over laptops, phones, newspapers or books. Caked and sandwiches were displayed in a glass cabinet beside which sat a cash register, where a very bored looking employee stood pretending to pay attention. Another door to his far right made of glass led to a small bookshop cluttered with pages and broken spines. All together, he was content with her choice.

Ordering a coffee, he chose a corner booth furthest from the front door in silent hope he wouldn't be noticed. But he felt the others' eyes on him, flitting his way fast as fireflies whenever he looked over and doubted he'd ever be inconspicuous. While most of the time this fact played in his favour, he cursed it when a girl with long red hair and dark, darting eyes stepped inside.

The only saving grace was that his coffee arrived around the same time. He kept his head low, pretending not to notice her until she was sliding into the chair opposite him, brushing her leg against his under the table. He hid his grimace behind the rim of the mug.

"Hey darling!" She cooed, twirling a lock of red hair around a finger as she stared at him. Cringing, Claude looked away and accidently on purpose kicked her under the table, which she pretended not to notice. He steeled himself and gritted his teeth.

"Alyth," he inclined his head in acknowledgement. The fingers wrapped around his mug were white at the knuckles as he stared her down. She'd clearly made an effort – her hair pinned up with golden clips, make-up overdone, clothes clearly unsuitable considering the weather. He didn't bother to appreciate the fact she'd got dressed up for him – he was too busy stewing in his perpetual state of disgust.

"So…do you wanna go somewhere a little more private?" She grinned, dropping the lock of hair and leaning forward across the table, words spanning the small gap between them heavily.

"No." At his blunt response, Alyth pouted her lip-glossed mouth, bottom lip sticking out in over-exaggerated sadness. He sneered and shook his head. "Look, we broke up okay? You need to understand that."

"No we didn't, silly!" She giggled, tossing her hair back and rolling her eyes. "We just had a fight – that's all. You still love me."

"No, Alyth." Claude stood and stepped out of her reach, "I don't. Stop calling and asking to meet me, okay?"

"Claude, stop lying to yourself! Of course you're in love with me," she giggled again, a little nervously. "I dare you to tell me truthfully that you don't love me."

"I don't love you." And with that, Claude left.


End file.
